


sticky fingers, messy hair, troubled eyes

by staccato



Series: sticky fingers, messy hair, troubled eyes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Fix-It, Gen, Harry Potter is Loki (Marvel)'s Child, Loki's Kids, Odin's A+ Parenting, Prequel, loki is trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:09:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staccato/pseuds/staccato
Summary: Here’s the thing, right.Loki loves all of his children, despite what everyone else may think. He loves them, birth defects and all.So when he finds out he has another son, well.It looks like it’s time to use those secret pathways again.Or: Harry is Loki's son.





	1. the beginning

Here’s the thing, right.

Loki loves all of his children, despite what everyone else may think. He loves them, birth defects and all.

The problem is, well, he is the Prince of Asgard. Oh, he won’t delude himself into thinking he’ll be the heir—Odin has made his bias clear—but he is a prince, and he has an image to uphold.

Besides, they’re his children. They will be fine.

And anyway, it’s not like he forgot about them. He makes an effort to visit them, once a year at the least and everyday if he could.

It’s just, again, he’s a prince. And princes have responsibilities, and upholding them is Loki’s number one priority.

But being a father is a very close second. So when he finds out he has another son, well.

It looks like it’s time to use those secret pathways again.

 

Loki remembers Lily, not that he could forget, even if he tried. He doubts anyone would be able to forget meeting a ball of spitfire who could literally spit fire.

Because, ladies and gents and nonbinary pals, Lily Evans was a witch. Keyword here is was, because now she is dead.

Her husband is dead, too, but that’s less important, Loki thinks. He never liked James Potter that much anyway, not the least because he was also in love with her.

But he isn’t a petty bastard, because of course he realizes he and Lily would never be able to marry. For one, he was a prince, as mentioned above, and the Prince of Asgard at that. It is his duty to marry a woman of noble blood and carry on the royal line.

And two, he was a god, albeit one with a lowercase g, and Lily was mortal, no matter how Muggles would perceive Magicals like her otherwise. It would be the worst kind of pain watching his wife die.

Besides, Odin would never approve. He’ll no doubt separate the two of them, just as he did with Loki and all of his children. They could hide their relationship, but Lily deserved better than a husband who she only sees once or twice a year.

So Loki is bitter, but he’s also logical, and he sees how happy the Potter kid makes her, so he withdraws gracefully from the competition.

They marry on a Thursday. Loki is pretty sure it was that Black’s idea.

Fuck. Him.

 

That should be the end of it, except, oh ho ho, the Potter kid was infertile.

Loki secretly thinks it’s due to all that pureblood inbreeding, but he doesn’t say it. Potter is already distraught enough, and Loki isn’t that big of a dick.

Besides, it’s not he hates the kid. He is the god of mischief (among other things), after all, and the Marauders were up to all kinds of mischief in that school of theirs.

The point is, Lily and Potter want a child, and Loki is the only other guy they trust with this job.

Well, there’s the rest of the Marauders, but Black and Lupin are so gay for each other it hurts his eyes and Pettigrew wants to save his virginity for that someone special.

Loki will spare you the details, but the end result is that Lily is pregnant. The mediwitch happily announced that they should expect a healthy child by July.

Finally, Loki thinks. Now I can go back to Asgard and never think about—

“Loki, would you like to be this child’s godfather?”

He is not crying, okay. He’s just allergic to, er, that shirt.

 

Of course, Loki is not the primary godfather—that honor goes to the Black kid—which was expected. He is a prince, as emphasized twice now, and he cannot be expected to drop everything to take care of the child, if the need arises. Black, however, certainly can. And he and Lupin would make some damn fine parents, if the situations calls for it.

Because Lily and Potter and Potter Jr are not allowed to die, no matter what some bloody prophecy said.

But he is a god, and he cannot interfere in the affairs of mortals. He cannot provide the former two any help, but the latter, his son, he can protect.

Loki visits the first of August, 1980, and casts a spell he hopes would never come into effect.

In the meantime, he admires the boy, who looks eerily similar to him. Perhaps some would compare his black hair to Potter’s and his green eyes to Lily’s, but if they were to put Potter Jr and Loki side by side, there will be no denying who the real father is.

Loki thinks a god’s clone should have a god’s name, and is fully prepared to give the new parents some advice, except Lily beats him to the punch and tells him the child’s name.

Harry. James. Potter.

How utterly plain.

 

Fortunately or unfortunately, the spell comes into effect.

Loki was away, celebrating Alfablot in Asgard, but he came as soon as he was able to sneak away.

The cottage was destroyed. Everyone was gone.

“Are they dead?” He asked the empty space.

Hel appeared, looking dreadfully pale and thin, “Lily Evans and James Potter are,” she intoned. “but Harry is not.”

She disappeared then, as quickly as she came, because even though she can leave her own damn realm anytime she like, she is the Queen of Niflheim and therefore has a responsibility to her subjects.

That, in this case, being the reapers and the trillions of beings that have died since the beginning of this cycle.

 

Harry is ridiculously easy to find, mostly because they share the same blood. Loki, who did not allow himself to properly mourn until he makes sure his damn son is safe, is outraged when he sees that Harry has been left with the Dursleys.

Lily hate—strongly disliked her sister and the man she chose to marry, and so does Loki. He remembers the hopeful Petunia who had written to Dumbledore begging to be admitted into Hogwarts, only to turn into a petty girl once rejected. Loki understood the bitterness of seeing a sibling become more favored by their parents, but he does not understand why she would dedicate her life to despising and punishing Lily for it. Loki resents Odin for his bias, but he would never think Thor was at fault. The great oaf was just…too naïve to have a mean body in his body. Similarly, Lily had never been anything but nice to Petunia, even at her worst moments.

It’s all about perspective, Loki had learned. Petunia had allowed her anger to twist her into an unpleasant woman who settled with the first man to give her the time of the day, whereas Loki had allowed his jealousy to fuel his ambitions. And he became _great._

For while Thor may excel at combat, there is no one in Asgard better with magic than Loki; by the same vein, Lily may have been recognized as the smartest witch in her generation, but Petunia could’ve became an award-winning astrophysicist.

But what’s done is done, and the present situation is that Harry is in imminent danger.

Because of a boy brawling loud enough to shatter several eardrums.

Loki quickly turns invisible while Petunia hurries into the room, looking appropriately ragged for a new mother. She scoops up the baby and cuddles him to her bosoms, rocking him gently until he settles, cries changing to soft snores.

On a table opposite of the room, Harry makes a gurgling sound that Loki (and Lily and the Marauders) have learned to mean that he’s hungry. Petunia only shushes him.

“Be quiet, boy. You’ll wake up Dudders.”

Loki shuddered. Dudders. What a horrifying name.

Satisfied that her boy is now asleep, Petunia leaves, presumably to also catch some sleep before Dudders awake with another need. Loki reappears, and approaches the basket Harry has been placed in. He’s swaddled loosely in a thin blanket, and blinks curiously up at Loki before a heart stopping smile spreads across his lips.

“Lo-lo!” Harry says, and Loki cannot help but grin back.

“Hi, little one,” he says quietly, making sure to not wake Dudders and bring Petunia or, Odin forbid, Vernon into the room. “Are you hungry?”

Harry makes an affirmative sound, so Loki wiggles his fingers and conjures up some baby food and a spoon. He feeds it to Harry gently but insistently, pushing in the food that spilled over Harry’s mouth with his fingers. Harry burps a little when he’s full. Loki laughs.

And for a moment, he’s so, _so_ very tempted to bring Harry back with him to Asgard. But common sense hits just as quickly, and Loki pushes away the thought when he remembers what exactly happened to the other children he brought to Odin.

Outside, Dawn breaks out over the hills, spilling rays of sunlight through the window and across the wooden floor. Loki knows that soon, the people of Asgard will wake and someone will question the presence of their prince.

He cannot stay here forever, but oh, how he wishes he could.  He would be happy to stand, for eternity, in this small room, watching his son fall asleep while gripping his index finger in his tiny fist.

But he’s a prince, and he has duties, so he does the best next thing.

“Hel,” he summons softly, “can you take care of him, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	2. the visit to azkaban

Loki returns to Asgard, says hello to Frigga, yells (teasingly) at Thor who is nursing a hangover, nods at Odin, and spins a lie about going hunting.

He leaves the palace as quickly as he came, and returns to Midgard to see where the fuck the rest of the Maurauders are.

If he sees them grieving for Lily and James or _celebrating the death of Voldemort with the rest of the Wizarding World without checking on their savior and godson_ , Loki will kill them. Slowly and painfully.

Except, what the hell is this?

Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, is in Azkaban.

The man is in a terrible state, with dull, matted hair and a filthy face, far from the vain man he usually is. His hands are curved around the bars of his cell tightly, skin white with tension. He continues to shout, despite the hoarseness of his throat.

“I didn’t do it! It was him! Pettigrew!”

He repeats the mantra desperately, until a guard marches up to his prison and hexes him angrily. Sirius falls to the dirty ground with a thud, and the woman sneers.

“Shut up, traitor!”

Sirius groans, but stays down, and the witch leaves. He turns so he’s curled on his side, back to the cell bars. His shoulders shake as he sobs violently yet quietly.

Loki cannot bear to watch the pathetic scene play out any longer, so he reveals himself to the man and crouches down beside him.

“Oy, Black,” he calls sharply.

The man startles, and nearly hit Loki with his flailing limbs. He sits up quickly, and grabs Loki by his forearm, tight enough to bruise. Loki has to consciously restrain himself from hitting the animagus and getting away from his grip. Instead, he stays still.

“Loki!” Sirius says rapidly. “You have to believe me! It was Pettigrew! He was the Secr—”

“Calm down or I will hit you,” Loki threatens, quite seriously. “Now start again, from the beginning this time, and don’t spit in my face.”

Sirius inhales and exhales, and Loki wrinkles his nose as pungent air hits him. Gross. “You remember how Dumbledore told us about that prophecy, right? After you left, he advised James and Lily to go into hiding. He would—he said he would hide their location using the Fidelius Charm, erase it from our memory, and the only one who would know it would be the Secret Keeper. He was surprised when you just popped in after the ceremony, though I supposed our mortal magic would have nothing on your godly witchcraft, eh?”

Ah, Loki remembers that moment. He’d been so excited to meet his son that he barely paid attention to the surprise on everyone’s faces.

“Anyway, James chose me as the Secret Keeper, said—” Sirius breaks off, sniffing, and Loki rubs his back in comfort, albeit a little awkwardly. But he’s learned the value of sympathy and empathy, and Black is, somehow, somewhat, his friend. “He said there’s no one better he’d trust with the job. Only I thought it would be too obvious, right? I’m the kid’s godfather, it’ll be logical for him to choose me as—Mordred’s balls, I was so stupid. Fuck.”

Loki makes a noise of impatience, “keep talking, Black.”

Sirius clears his throat, “so I suggested _Pettigrew_ to be the Secret Keeper instead,” he spits out the name like it is poison. “Told no one else, not even Remy. Fuck. He must hate me now.”

Loki sighs, conjures up some chocolate and passes them to Sirius, “what happened next?”

“It was Halloween. Pettigrew was supposed to come to my house, only he never showed. I didn’t think anything of it—maybe he finally got Marlene’s attention, I thought—and went to James’ house to visit little Harry, but…”

He falls silent, and nibbles on the chocolate while Loki ponders over Black’s words. After a moment, he asks, “why didn’t you stay with Harry? You could’ve explained the situation to the Aurors, just as you did with me.”

Sirius avertes his gaze in shame, “I—all I could think about was revenge, about the need to kill Pettigrew for what he’d done. Hagrid told me Harry would be safe with Dumbledore, so I…I thought I would be able to go back later, I never…”

His hands tighten, and the chocolate wrapper crinkles. “I chased Pettigrew down to Muggle London. He accused me of betraying James and Lily, then he casted a blasting curse and twelve—twelve Muggles died. Then he cut off his finger and fled down the sewers as Wormtail.

“I couldn’t-couldn’t stop laughing. They’ll tell you I admitted to being a traitor. I did. I yelled ‘it’s my fault,’ because it was, wasn’t it? I chose Pettigrew. I trusted him. I distrusted Remy. I…

“I killed James and Lily.”

Black drops the chocolate bar. He shrugs away from Loki’s touch and shuffles until his back hits one of the cell’s corner. Then he covers his face with his hands and begins to weep. The sound is hideous, reminiscent of that found in Hel’s realm. And Black isn’t even dead yet.

_Odin._

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs very, very heavily. “Black. Shut up, please.”

Black looks up, the glare intensified by the red of his eyes and softened by the tear tracks down his face, “You shut up, Odinson. What would you _Asgardians_ know about grief, huh? Did you even mourn Lily? Or have you already found yourself another whore?”

Loki kicks him in the face.

Black goes down with a grunt, but his taunt doesn’t stop. “Hit a nerve, did I? Funny, I didn’t even know you _Asgardians_ had nerves like the rest of us mere mortals.”

Loki kicks him again. He hears a crunch.

Black doesn’t stop. “That’s it, Odinson. Come on, show me that you _Asgardians_ know how to express emotions!”

“Who the fuck are you?”

The guard has returned, wand raised in front of her as if her seven years at Hogwarts could stand a chance against him, who was born when the Universe unfolded.

But Loki is glad she is challenging him. Now he could unleash his full anger and frustration without feeling guilty.

“I said, who the fuck are you?!”

Black is wrong. Asgardians experienced emotions, and they expressed them physically. The Asgardian body is not as frail as a Midgardian one, and would not break quite easily under happy hugs or hateful hits. Black is mortal, no matter how invincible he pretends to be; and Loki’s acquaintance, no matter how much both of them denies it, and so Loki can’t punish him for his insolent words as much as he wishes.

This woman, though. She is a stranger. Someone with whom Loki has no emotional ties with. Someone whom Lily did not care about.

“I said, WHO TH-”

“Please do be quiet, darling.” Loki says, stalking towards her. “I had a very tiring day. My lover is dead, my son is with Muggles, and this man is about to get himself killed. Do me a favor and make yourself _useful_.”

He reaches between the cell bars and jabs two fingers against her temple and _let go_ of his emotions, just for a few seconds. She screams as she dies.

Mortals. So fragile.

Loki retracts his arm and wipes his fingers on this clothes. He turns back towards Black, who had sat up and watched the proceedings with wide eyes and a wider mouth. He looks comical.

“Watch your mouth next time, Black.” Loki warns him softly, suddenly exhausted. “We feel even more intensely than you lot do. Of course I miss Lily. How could I not? And Potter…he wasn’t half-bad, either.

“But I have a son, Black. He is 15 months old and his current guardians are shit. I need him to be safe. I can’t rest until he is. I had hoped you would be able to fulfill your responsibilities as a godfather, but evidently I expected too much. Perhaps Lupin will be a better parent.

“I’ll leave you to wallow in your self-pity, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aww, poor siri.
> 
> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	3. at an undisclosed location

As far as Loki understands it, here’s the situation with Remus “Moony” Lupin and Sirius “Padfoot” Black:

They’re best friends, first and foremost, has been ever since Black said “your scar is wicked!” and Lupin said “thank you.” They began dating officially in sixth year, after eight months of casual sex and not-so-casual kisses. They broke up and then got back together more times than they themselves can remember, but they knew they loved each other enough to live together

(There might have been a wedding at some point, but Loki couldn’t be sure. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, non-heterosexual marriages weren’t recognized anywhere on Midgard, so instead, Black had transformed into a woman and the two had gotten hitched in Las Vegas. At least, that’s what they told him. No one knew until McGonagall, of all people, noticed the matching rings on the day of their Hogwarts graduation.)

After that, they rented an apartment in central Muggle London, close enough to Charing Cross Road but not quite. Far away that the prejudiced would have to walk a few blocks to attack the home of a werewolf and/or a pure-blood; close enough that they could visit their friends twice a week. When Dumbledore placed the Potters under cottage-arrest, the number of visits doubled and tripled.

(Loki had some concerns about their mutual dependency.)

Loki had only been there twice, both times to find and play with his darling Harry. He didn’t go further than the living room, but he remembered the cozy atmosphere. The plush carpet under his feet. The steaming tea cup hot in his hands. The hand knitted blankets, spelled to keep warm at the perfect temperature. The cackling fireplace, the flames red and dancing, occasionally green as another guest joined them. The scent of chocolate cookies, fresh out of the oven, soft and gooey and leaving its marks on Harry’s hands and mouth.

It was small place, cluttered with random objects the two had collected over the years, but…a good place. Loki wouldn’t have objected to raising Harry here.

Except, it seems the other owner of this home isn’t capable that, either.

It’s evident that Remus has been crying, but Loki has seen him cry, every time the man changes back from a werewolf. And it’s obvious that he’d been crying before he’d even shifted back, but that’s was fine. He had James and Sirius and Peter to comfort him, to feed him chocolate, to cuddle him until his tears have dried and his hiccups have subsided. Then they would take him to Pomfrey, sit with him the whole day while he slept. The day after that, it’s like nothing is amiss.

But now, he has no one. James is dead, Peter is presumed dead, and Siri….Sirius Black, the love of his life, is a fucking traitor.

It’s no surprise, isn’t it? He’s a Black, after all, born and raised in 12 Grimmauld Place. Everyone knows the apple doesn’t fall far away from the tree, and Sirius has never done anything to separate himself from the other Blacks. He’s always been kind to his brother, Regulus, and although he gladly torments the likes of Severus Snape, isn’t that what his relatives do? When he laughed while James hang Snape upside down, how is that different from the cackle Bellatrix lets out when she casts the Cruciatus Curse?

Merlin, he probably never loved him, did he? Probably sniggered about it with his Slytherin friends behind his back; crowed about how he tamed and fucked that meek werewolf.

And if Black was no different from his family, then how could Remus be any different from his sire? It’ll probably be only a matter of time before he becomes a savage beast, attacking and raping and turning children during every full moon, just like Fenrir Greyback did and still does.

Mordred’s balls.

There’s no way he can take care of Harry. Not now. Not ever.

Loki turned away, rubbing his hands over his face. He had always perceived Black as rash and irresponsible, so it didn’t surprise him that the kid’s immediate reaction was to chase down Pettigrew and take his revenge, focused as he was on James’ (and Lily’s) death, instead of caring for his godson.

But he had thought of Lupin as patient and responsible, Black’s polar opposite, and was surprised to find him overturning his furniture and screaming in rage. It seemed as if his lover had rubbed more than just his cock on him, and he, too, had jumped to conclusions without considering anything else.

Or, in this case, anyone else.

It’s moments like this when Loki’s hatred for Odin, normally kept at bay through self-restraint, breaks its prison bars and flares and demands to be noticed and threatens to consume him. If it wasn’t for the All-Father and the fear of what he would do another one of his children, Loki would have brought Harry to Asgard as soon as he was out of Lily’s womb. Harry was a prince, and he deserved to be nurtured like one, not raised on Midgard with some witches and wizards and Muggles.

But, no. Odin had banished Hel to Niflheim and Jormungandr to Midgard and bound Fenrir to Lyngvi. And Loki, who has learned his lesson, will die before he brings Harry to Odin. Even his mother, Frigga, has always stood by and watched while her grandchildren received their punishments. And Thor, _the good son,_ delivered the sentences himself. It was his hands that flung Hel and Jormungandr out of Asgard.

So Loki can’t bring him to Asgard, but he also cannot leave and run away with his son, because Heimdall will find them and Odin will take away his child again and he may just decide to kill this one—

No, better to let Harry be raised on Midgard, where Loki can watch over and protect him from Asgard. And better Black and Lupin, friends of Harry’s adopted father, than the Dursleys.

Mind made, Loki walks up to the pathetic Midgardian who goes by the name of Remus Lupin, and kicks him in the back until he falls to his knees.

“Hey, Lupin,” Loki crouches down. “We need to talk.”

The Lupin that looks up at him is teary eyed and splotchy faced. There’s little difference between his and Black’s expression, both of rage and guilt and grief. Upon meeting Loki’s eyes, Lupin drops his head.

“Loki,” he greets faux casually, “what are you doing here?”

Loki raises his eyebrows. If Lupin wants to pretend that nothing’s wrong, then he’ll play along, “just visiting, _old sport,_ hope I haven’t interrupted anything. Where’s Harry? I’ve missed him.”

At the mention of Harry, Lupin’s face crumbles and fresh tears streak down his cheeks. He rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his cable jumper.

“I, I don’t know,” he admits.

Loki’s hand came up to grip his arm, “sorry, can you repeat that? There must have been some wax in my ears because I could have sworn I just heard you say that you don’t know where Harry is, and that’s ridiculous, Lupin, because I also could have sworn that James and Lily made Black, and by default you, his godfather.”

Lupin mumbles something unintelligible. Loki shakes him slightly.

“Pardon?” He asks, smiling widely.

Lupin raises his voice, “you’ve heard right, Loki. I don’t know where he is. And, and I’ve failed as a godfather, I know, but Sirius—” His throat closing up and his voice breaking, Lupin falls silent.

Loki tightens his hold, “Remus Lupin, are you using Sirius Black as an excuse to NOT CARE FOR HARRY?”

He shouts the last part, overcome with irritation. Dropping Lupin’s arm, he jumps up and begins to pace the living room. Lupin watches him warily.

“Listen to me, Lupin, and do not interrupt, because I will say this only once: Black didn’t betray James and Lily. Pettigrew did—”

“But Sirius was the Secret Keeper!” Lupin interruptes, doing exactly what he was told not to do. Under any other circumstance, Loki would have laughed—leave it up to the Mauraders to break the rules at the worst time. Instead, he glares at Lupin until the man murmurs a quiet “sorry” and closes his mouth.

Satisfied, Loki continues, “they switched a month, two months ago because Black thought it was far too obvious for Harry’s godfather to also be the Secret Keeper. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you, joined at the hip as you two are, but that’s none of my concern. _My_ main concern is that both of you have abandoned Harry to the Dursleys.”

Lupin pales, he had met Petunia and Vernon at Lily’s wedding, when she attempted again to heal the rift between her and her sister. Unfortunately, the rift was too deep and too much time had passed, and the Dursleys had stormed out of the ceremony as Pettigrew used his wand to fix Potter’s hair. They hadn’t even waited until Lily walked down the aisle.

Neither side had good impressions of each other.

“My main concern is that James and Lily are dead, and I cannot raise Harry alone, so I must entrust his care onto someone else. Now, the Dursleys is a terrible option, and you two have also proven to be irresponsible. But, I am loathe to allow Harry to grow up in an orphanage or in the home of someone I am not familiar with, and wizards are preferable to Muggles. Therefore, against my better judgement, I have decided to allow Harry to stay with you.”

Lupin breathes out a sigh of relief, and Loki turns towards him, “that does not mean, however, that I trust either you or Black. You two left Harry alone after the death of his parents to deal with your individual petty problems, and that is completely unacceptable. I will be dropping by at least once every month to check on Harry, and I’ll have my daughter keep an eye on him, too.”

“Your daughter, Hel…?” Lupin asks.

Loki smirks. He has always wanted to track down the Midgardian who decided to portray Hel as a terrifying demon and demand that they fix it, but Hel never minded, relishing in the whimpers of the souls that arrived in her domain. And now, finally, Loki understands why she would allow that misconception to live.

“That’s right,” he purrs, “Hel, ruler of dead.”

That was a gross exaggeration, but clearly Lupin doesn’t know that, as he nods meekly and, for the second time since they met, attempts to bow. Loki chuckles, the anger leaving him abruptly as he recalls the face of an awed eleven year old. He walks up to Lupin and helps him to stand up, supporting him as his knees wobbles.

“Okay?” He asks gently.

Lupin shakes his head hesitantly.

“Okay, that’s fine.” Loki says, and lowers him onto the sofa. He conjures up another chocolate bar and hands it to Lupin, who slowly peels open the wrapper and takes a bite. Loki grabs the blanket from where it had fallen to the floor and lays it over Lupin, tucking it beneath his feet and sides. He rights the rest of the room with a wave of his hand.

“Take a nap, alright?” He instructs Lupin. “I’ll go and bring Harry and Black here.”

Loki prepares to leave, but a hand on his wrist stops him. He looks at Lupin, bemused. The other man had freed himself from the cocoon of blankets and was staring at Loki with fierce sincerity.

“Thank you, Loki.” He says, “And, I’m sorry about leaving Harry. I wasn’t thinking logically. I was afraid that I would accidentally hurt him during the full moons, since I don’t have any Wolfsbane or any friends to stop me.”

Loki dislodges Lupin’s hand to run his own through his hair, “yes, well, I’m sorry about James and Lily, and I’m sorry for yelling at you. You didn’t deserve that. But I had visited Black beforehand, and he…” He trails off, knowing that Lupin would understand.

He does, and smiles wryly, “damn it, Siri.”

“Damn him, indeed.” Loki agrees. “You’ll keep him from annoying me in the future, I expect?”

“And he’ll keep me from annoying you, too.”

“And I’ll keep Harry from the both of you.”

Lupin laughs, perhaps for the first time genuinely since news of the Potters’ death had reached him. Loki smiles fondly, and nudges him towards the sofa. “Go lie down, now, and try to sleep. I’ll be back with Harry and Black before you know it.”

“Hmm,” Lupin hums, crawling under the blanket, “I know you will. I trust you.”

Loki refuses to acknowledge the latter half of that statement. “Sweet dreams,” he whispers, and leaves.

 

   

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why am i being so cruel to both remy and siri haha
> 
> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	4. 4 privet drive

When Loki returns to 4 Privet Drive, Hel is looking down at Harry’s basket with a reluctantly fond smile. As soon as she senses Loki’s presence, however, she lifts her head to frown at the side of the room where the aforementioned Dudders had been. The crib is empty, now, and Loki can hear the Dursleys shuffling downstairs as they prepare to eat dinner.

“That baby was very loud,” she informs him bluntly. “You should kill him.”

Loki sighs, “no, darling, you can’t ask me to murder everyone who annoys you. Think of how clogged your realm will become; the paperwork alone will be horrendous.”

Hel pouts, and, really, why were people terrified of her, again?

“How’s Harry?” Loki asks before she could complain further.

“Fine,” Hel says. Then, something seemed to have suddenly occurred to her, for she smirks. Loki is immediately wary. “Well, he had a little potty incident during the afternoon. I had one of my reapers clean him up, of course; changed his diapers and banished his waste...”

Loki is about to reprimand her for abusing her powers as the Queen of Niflheim, when she adds, almost like an afterthought, “…to your bedchamber.”

She takes a moment to study her nails—today, they’re painted a metallic silver, and each one of them as sharp as the stiletto she is wearing—with exaggerated interest, before looking up innocently like the lamb she is not. She cracks up instantly when she sees his grimace, hands dropping to clutch at her sides.

Loki did not know how to respond.

On one hand, he is proud of his kid for coming up with that prank. It’s completely disgusting, but it doesn’t actually cause any harm, physically, emotionally, or mentally. Loki can easily get rid of the mess, perhaps even transferring to Thor’s bed. On the other hand, why couldn’t she have sent it to Thor’s room in the first place? Loki is even willing to take the blame for it.

(Not that he isn’t already blamed for a lot of things. Some, rightly so. Others, not so much.

But who cares about that, right?)

“Get out of here, you insolent brat,” he settles on saying, voice void of any actual anger. His face twitches oddly as he fails to try to tamper down a smile.

Hel’s laugh lingers long after her physical body disappears.

Loki sighs again. Recently, he has found himself to be sighing at an alarming frequency. It’s this whole damn mess with Lily and James dying, and Black in Azkaban, the most fortified prison in Magical Britain, and Lupin being an inconsolable mess,  and Harry being placed with the Dursleys—

And, here’s another matter: who placed him with the Dursleys? Loki, in spite of all his protests that Lily and James would not die, was present when the two recited, swore, and sealed their will in front of the Goblin Nation. There had been no clause that even suggests of Harry being raised with the Dursleys. The list of potential, suitable guardians were listed in this order: Sirius Black, Alice Longbottom, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Frank Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall, and Albus Dumbledore.

Loki wasn’t on that list, because it was never a question whether or not he would care for Harry.

At that thought, Loki approaches Harry’s basket. True to her words, Harry is sleeping soundly, his head bent in an uncomfortable looking position and his tiny, tiny fists resting by his sides. Loki smiles down at him, helplessly enamored, and reaches out to smooth down Harry’s hair.

The strand bounces back immediately, and Loki huffs, amused and exasperated. He continues to pet his son, and Harry shifts, unconsciously butting his head against Loki’s hand.

“Ah, my darling, you’re too adorable,” Loki whispers, reluctant to break the quiet yet unable to stop himself. He has no illusions about the amount of time he will spend with Harry, not after this. He’d been gone almost the whole day, and he’ll have to stay in Midgard for a bit longer to retrieve Black from Azkaban and have a talk with the two godparents. When he returns to Asgard, Odin will regard him with suspicion, and the guards will watch him a little more carefully. It’ll be even more difficult to sneak out and visit Harry, not to mention Loki will have to divide that time between his _four_ children, now. How many more opportunities will Loki be able to talk to him like this?

“You might even be more adorable than Hel, when she was just born,” he adds, very aware of the fact that she might be listening and hoping that she is. “Of course, these days she is a spoiled queen, always demanding me to kill a thing or another for her. Do be aware of that, Harry. I got no doubt that she’ll abuse her privilege as an older sister to force you to murder for her. But I suppose the urge is completely understandable. Imagine never being able to kill, even though you are the epitome of Death. But,” Loki raises the pitch of his voice, mimicking the forever meddling Aesir, “it’ll upset the balance of the universe!”

Loki bends down and puts his mouth next to Harry’s little ear, “personally, I think they’re just jealous. Children of mine have always been prophesized as powerful, and they are. My first born, Fenrir, broke the chains of Laeding and Dromi when he was just a babe. Jormungandr, the Serpent, is thrice as long and thrice as thick as Midgard. And Hel, well. She made herself the Queen of the Dead.

“And you, my youngest one, shall also be great.”

Placing both arms under Harry’s body, Loki lifts—Odin, he was so light. How can he be this light? Is this healthy?—and cradles Harry to his chest. He shifts until Harry is nestled comfortably, and made sure that his head is sufficiently supported. Lily had drilled into him the dangers of not doing that.

“His head could snap off,” she had said, while demonstrating with a doll, and Loki had instantly wanted to put Harry down so he could never, ever hurt him. It took both Lily and Pettigrew to reassure him of his parenting abilities before he could even touch Harry again.

Harry is a year and three months old now, yet he still seems as fragile as when he was a newborn. Loki rocks him gently, and begins to whisper, all the words he hope he will get to say to Harry another time, when the boy is older and will remember it. But just in case…

“But, Harry, I will always be proud of you, even if you don’t become the next ruler of Midgard. As long as you’re happy and healthy, then your Lo-Lo will be happy, too. Your siblings succeeded in the face of many trials and tribulations, and I won’t…I’ll never force you to suffer like they did.”

Loki presses his lips against Harry’s round cheeks, holding the position for one, two, three, four seconds, before straightening and resuming his walk around the room.

“And suffer they did, Harry. Jormungandr was exiled to Midgard, and Hel Niflheim. Fenrir is bound to a rock on Lyngi, with a bloody sword in his mouth. He cannot hunt by himself; he would have died if not for me visiting and feeding him.

“These punishments were all ordered by Odin, my father, but you need not worry about him. He is old and frail, Harry, and he only has authority because of his reputation, built a millennial ago. His Gungnir is a fickle weapon, and it will only serve those it wants to serve. He falls into Odinsleep annually, and that time has increased over the last decade. He will die soon enough.

“The real threat is Thor,” Loki spits out, “he is my brother, though he certainly doesn’t act like one. He personally banished Jormungandr and Hel. Picked them up by their feet and tail and just tossed, as if they weren’t my children and his niblings. Yet the people love him. There have been talks, rumors, Harry, of plans to assassinate Odin so Thor can be the king instead.”

Harry twists uncomfortably as Loki’s grip became tighter, and Loki immediately relaxes his hand, “sorry, darling. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He waits until Harry has settled again before continuing, “Yet, somehow, I cannot bring myself to hate him. Thor is not a malicious person by nature, Harry. But he is under immense pressure from, well, everyone to be the perfect son, the perfect warrior, and the perfect king. He learned the latter two by observing how Odin fights and rules, so why not the first? So when he sees Odin favoring him and treating me poorly, then why shouldn’t he also ignore my consul and doubt my judgement? I’m only a magic user, after all, who fights with tricks and illusions. Not even close to a proper, honorable warrior.”

Loki stops, pushing out a shuddering breath, “perhaps I was too harsh on your godfather, Harry. Of course the man would be distraught. He has lost all of his friends in one night, after all. Who could blame him for not thinking of you, when the great Dumbledore himself has promised your continued safety and wellness? So, I was not angry at him for that. I was disappointed in him for failing his duties as godfather, yes, but mostly I was angry at him for distrusting Black. He is Lupin’s best friend and lover, Harry, and Lupin immediately doubted his innocence upon hearing the news because he was born a Black. Never mind that he had proved himself again and again in the last seven years. Because of his family, he must be evil.

“And, darling, I know what it is like to have people distrust me simply because of my nature. When I saw Lupin’s uncertainty, I could not help but be reminded of Thor, questioning my motives because of his friend’s suspicions and my nature as a magic user. He is my brother, Harry. We were raised together; we played together; we fought together! And he threw all that away, just because of a few words, spoken by an outsider out of pettiness and jealousy.”

Bam!

The door slams open, and Loki turns around, unsurprised. He had been dimly aware of the sound of chairs scraping and shoes slapping against the stairs and new parents cooing to their baby, and had deducted that dinner was over. The Dursleys had come up stairs to put Dudders into his crib for the night, but Loki had plans of his own.

“Good evening, Turnip,” he greets with a pleasant smile, “Vermin. And oh my, is that little Dudders?”

Vernon turns a lovely shade of red, complementing his wife’s suddenly pale face. “What the fuck did you call—”

Loki shifts Harry until his head is rested on Loki’s shoulder and could be supported with only one of Loki’s hand. Raising his other one, Loki snaps his fingers, and a spool of wire and a silver needle appears next of Vernon’s head. The wire threads itself through the eye of the needle, and then approaches Vernon. It stops a finger’s width away from his quivering mouth.

“No swearing in front of the children!” Loki tuts, wagging a finger disapprovingly. “The next time you speak, Vermin, I’ll sew you mouth shut. Do you understand?”

The man nods quickly, and Loki turns his attention towards Petunia, “how are you, Turnip? Motherhood treating you well?”

Petunia hugs Dudders closer to her bosom, “what do you want, Loki?”

Loki pets Harry’s hair. “Can’t a man just drop in and see how his friend’s sister is doing without anyone questioning his motives?

“You’re not a man. You’re a freak.” Petunia replies.

Loki’s eyes flashes, “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard what I said,” Petunia steps into the room. “You’re a freak, just like them, just like Lily—”

Loki appears in front of her, faster than the Midgardian eye can see and the Midgardian brain can perceive, “don’t you dare to insult her, Turnip.”

“Or what? You can’t use magic here. You’ll be arrested.”

“I can’t use magic here, you say?” Loki challenges, raising an eyebrow. He turns his head to the side, where Vernon was now visibly sweating as the tip of the needle brushes against his lips. Petunia follows his gaze. This close, Loki could hear her swallow nervously.

“They’ll lock you up in Azkaban,” she whispers, with a hint of uncertainty.

“Interesting theory. Let’s test it,” Loki says, and raises his hand again—

Petunia’s free hand lands on his arm, forcing it down, “no, no!” She protests, “there’s no need for that, s-sir.”

Loki grins, “hmm, sir. I like the sound of that.”

“Please, s-sir. What do you want?” Petunia begs, desperate to be rid of his presence.

Loki slips his arm out of her grip, and steps back, “I want a lot of things, Turnip. I want world peace, and my brother to listen to me, and my father to love me, and Harry to grow up safe and happy, and Lily to be alive again. But mostly, I want to know why you two, of all people, would want to raise Harry. It’s clear that you don’t like him all that much.”

“We didn’t want him!” Petunia shrieks. In her arms, Dudders shifts, and she lowers her voice. “We had no choice! We were perfectly happy being a normal family, but then he was left on our doorstep four nights ago, with only a letter from that twice damned Dumbledore. I found him in the morning surrounded by milk bottles!”

Her tone is hysterical, and rightly so, Loki decides. Who in the nine realms would leave a baby on someone’s doorstep with a piece of paper as the only explanation? Dumbledore, apparently.

Dumbledore, who told Lily and James the prophecy. Dumbledore, who suggested they go in hiding. Dumbledore, who left his son in the cold at night. Dumbledore, who is an old, meddling fool.

Dumbledore, who will one day receive his just punishment.

But for now…

“May I see the letter, please?” Loki asks, politely, holding out his free hand.

Petunia sniffs, “I burned it. I wasn’t going to have something touched by those freaks near my little Popkin.”

Loki thinks that nickname might be even worse than Dudders.

“What was the content of that letter, if you don’t mind?” _What convinced you to take Harry in?_

Petunia grimaces, looking away from him, “it said that Lily and that Potter boy died the night before, and that we’ll receive magical protections from those Death Eaters if we adopted their son.”

Loki feels shock running through his body. How absolutely insensitive could Dumbledore be? To threaten the Dursley’s lives if they failed to take Harry in? What if they weren’t financially stable enough to do so? And how could anyone bear to inform a family member of someone’s passing through the bloody mail? He didn’t like how Petunia treated Lily in their teenage years, either, but even he understood that they were twin sisters. They grew up together and played together in the same house and ate at the same table. Even if Petunia envied and later hated Lily for her magical abilities, she wouldn’t have wanted her dead. She wouldn’t have celebrated her demise.

Loki understands that, because those were his exact feelings towards Thor.

But does Dumbledore? Does he understand anything about familial bonds and grief?

“My apologies and condolences, then,” Loki says, “but I must take Harry with me. He’ll be safer with other, as you refer to them, freaks.”

Petunia rushes forward, “no, you can’t! As soon as he leaves this house, Dumbledore will drop his protection. We will die!”

“That’s unfortunate for you, isn’t it?” Loki says. “Fortunately for me, I don’t care.”

He thrusts out his hand, and casts a powerful memory charm over the Dursleys. “On November first, 1981, you woke up to find a dead Harry Potter on your porch. He had frozen to death during the cold night. Not wanting to spend money on a funeral, you decided to have Vernon throw the corpse, still swaddled in the blanket, into the River Thames. You burned the letter, and kept the basket because, well, it’s a nice basket, isn’t it?”

“It is a nice basket,” all three agree, though Dudders’ words are barely intelligible.

“Good,” Loki lowers his arm, and comprehension slowly returns to them, “I will leave, now.”

And so he does, and reappears in Black’s cell.

Black’s shoots up, in the form of his Animagus. He hastily changes back when he sees who exactly his visitors are.

“Loki,” his voice trembles, “is that…?”

“Let’s get you out of here, Black,” Loki says, holding out a hand. Black grasps at it weakly, his fingers caked with dirt and blood. Loki briefly wonders if Azkaban allowed their prisoners to shower. Even Muggle prisons did, and they were…Muggles.

“Don’t trip,” Loki warns, and whisks all of them back to Lupin and Black’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hel is my favorite
> 
> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are always appreciated.


	5. some time in the distant future

Here’s Harry Black’s childhood in a nutshell:

He lives with his Papa and Dada, one Remus Lupin and one Sirius Black, in the Black Ancestral Manor in Italy. It’s placed in a quaint little town of which he is not allowed to know the name; of which he’s never gone beyond the border except through the floo, during the family’s annual trip to Albania. That’s a place of Dark magic, and all three of them needs to go there to recharge their magic, so to speak. They’re Dark wizards, and Italy is so obnoxiously saturated with Light magic that Harry physically hurts to be outside of his home for too long.

He knows his core wasn’t always Dark. He knows he should’ve been a Grey wizard. His mum was a Muggleborn, after all, and they’re always Grey. Loki, on the other hand…

Loki’s an Asgardian. They don’t have magical cores.

Harry also knows that being a child, his core shouldn’t even have settled yet. But Papa told him that he’d absorbed the magic of his parents when he drank that adoption potion, that werewolves were Dark creatures, that Dada’s family was called the Blacks because their magic was Dark like the midnight sky. Combined, there was no way that Harry’s core wouldn’t be overpowered and change to be Dark.

Papa and Dada had apologized countless times for that, but Harry doesn’t really understand what the problem is. Even now, his parents are prejudiced against anything Dark. But being Dark doesn’t mean evilness and Voldemort and the Unforgivables. A Dark wizard just means having an affinity for Dark magic. The best of the Dark wizards is named the Dark Lord. Similarly, the best of the Light wizards is the Light Lord.

Voldemort wasn’t ruthless because of his core; Dumbledore isn’t kind because of his magic.

(There are also Grey Lords, but those haven’t existed for decades. Not since Voldemort decided that every skilled Muggleborn was a threat to his reign.)

Though Dumbledore might not be so kind, after all. Harry doesn’t remember him, but his Dada said he was the one that placed him with the Dursleys.

Harry doesn’t remember them, either. Still, he’s rather glad he’s not living with them. They sound like horrid people.

Horrid enough to go to Azkaban, apparently. According to Loki, who’s the only one that deemed Harry mature enough for such information, a Minerva McGonagall had gone to Privet Drive to check on Harry, a year after Loki had spirited him away. When she discovered that not only had Harry died during the night, but that Vernon had simply thrown him away in the bins, she had immediately gone to the newspapers and court.

The Minister had been reluctant to incarcerate them. After all, they were Muggles. The breaking point, apparently, had been the basket, which Loki left behind as he didn’t want anything that could be traced to Harry Potter in his new life. One reporter, Rita something, had zeroed in on that little detail. She called them “materialistic scums, who kept the basket Mrs. Potter had lovingly weaved for little Harry yet threw away the babe himself. The two should have been buried together, both products of Mrs. Potter’s love.”

Harry had talked to Lily’s portraits. He was certain she had never touched a sewing needle in her life.

But the article worked as intended. Massive amount of Howlers had been sent into the Minister’s office. The fate of the Dursleys had been decided. Not even Dumbledore could do much to help them.

(The man himself barely escaped the ordeal. When McGongall testified that it was Albus Dumbledore who had entrusted the Boy-Who-Lived with the Dursleys, the public demanded his head on a stick. He had been stripped of his titles, and only his reputation as the Defeater of Grindlewald saved him from an execution. Now he rotted away in Azkaban, in a cell across from the Dursley’s.

(During his trial, he also admitted that Sirius Black had not, in fact, been the Secret Keeper. That honor had gone to Peter Pettigrew. He, too, had been stripped of his Order of Merlin, received posthumously after his brave confrontation with Black.

(Upon his “official” release from Azkaban, Sirius considered informing the Aurors that Pettigrew was still alive, that he had ran away after transforming into a rat. In the end, he decided against it. People will wonder why a magically weak student had felt it necessary to learn how to become an Animagu, and someone, if Severus Snape doesn’t tell them first, will discover Remus’ lycanthropy.)))

Then, finally, could Harry Black be seen in public.

Black and Lupin, as Harry’s godfathers, had released a statement. They expressed their regrets, their sorrows, their anger, and, at the end of it all, hinted at something new.

Half a year later, the pair was spotted with their new adopted child, Harry Black. The boy looked eerily similar to the deceased Harry Potter, whose picture had been on the front page of many newspapers for months. The only difference, it seemed, was his hair. Whereas the Potter child had straight black hair, this Harry’s was curly and a soft brown.

Lupin, when asked, acknowledged the similarities easily: “we noticed that, as well. It’s one of the many reasons why we chose to adopt him. We also renamed him Harry, for we wanted to honor Harry Potter, our best friend’s son, our godson, and, of course, the Savior of the Wizarding World.”

Obviously, this Harry also lacked the infamous scar, for he wasn’t the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, the miraculous child who defeated You-Know-Who.

(Thank you, Asgardian magic.)

This Harry was also four years younger than Harry Potter. The public praised Black and Lupin for not rushing into the adoption process, for taking their time in choosing their son and heir.

The truth was much different.

“Well, it does make sense,” Loki murmured, after a careful examination, “he is my son. We Asgardians age, physical and mentally, slower than the average Midgard human. If Lily had also been an Asgardian, Harry would still be a babe, sucking on her teats. As it is, her DNA and yours sped up his aging process. However, he would still age slower than his peers.”  

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look.

“We can’t stay here in Britain, then,” Sirius said. “That Skeeter is a nosy bastard. She’ll notice. Belgium, on the other hand…”

“It’s always been a Grey country,” Remus added. “They won’t care much for us Brits, or our Dark magic. They won’t prey into our lives.”

Loki shook his head. “No, it won’t work. The land is too small and too close to the Isle. If anyone wants to hurt him, all they have to do is perform a Point-Me spell and Apparate across the Channel. It’s too risky.”

“What about Sweden?” Remus suggested. “It’s decent-sized, far away from Britain, and far up north that no one ever wants to go there.”

“If no one wants to go there, then why are we?” Sirius said, “if we just leave, people here will ask questions. And when people ask questions…”

“Italy, then,” Loki finally said. “It’s far from here, it’s Light—the people couldn’t care less about a family of Dark Wizards—and it’s big enough that one won’t find you lot too easily. If necessary, you can always escape by fleeing into Central Europe, or ride a ship out through the Strait of Gibraltar.”

Sirius nodded. “That could work. My family owns a villa there somewhere, too.”

“You’ll have to tell people that Britain holds too many painful memories, that you want to raise Harry somewhere not ravaged by war. You’ll ask them to give you space, because you want Harry to have a happy and peaceful childhood.”

Sirius scoffed, as all three of them knew that would be impossible. Harry is still the child of the prophecy, and Fate wouldn’t be tricked by an adoption spell. She will come knocking, some time or another. They can’t escape her, not even if they move across the Atlantic Ocean; they’ll just be delaying the inevitable. All they can do is to do everything in their power to prepare Harry for the inevitable battle with Voldemort, for it will happen.

Remus still slapped his arm, because someone needed to be the optimist.

Loki ignored the exchange. After a decade, he has learned it’s the only way to deal with any member of the Marauders. “It’ll be hard, though. You’re all Dark wizards. They can’t exactly thrive in a Light environment,” he said.

Sirius shrugged callously, “yes, well. Anything for Harry, right?”

“Anything for Harry,” Remus repeated immediately.

Loki looked at the two wizards, both so determined to protect, really, another man’s son. It made him feel…strange, that these men would do anything and everything for Harry. He wonders if Thor, his literal brother, would do the same.

(Well, he’s got the answer to that question, hasn’t he? Thor has proved, again and again, that he doesn’t care for any of Loki’s children at all. Exhibition A: Fenrir. Exhibition B: Jormungandr. Exhibition C: Hel.)

It makes him all the grateful, that he can rely and depend on Sirius and Remus to do what’s necessary to keep Harry safe, even subjecting themselves to the pain that Italy, a Light country, will bring.

“Anything for Harry,” he echoed.

Because Harry is his son, and he has learned his lesson. He cannot trust his family, nor the rest of Asgard, to do what’s best for his children. Instead, the sole responsibility falls on Loki, and he will not fail, not this time around. And if it means trusting two Midgardians wizards? So be it.

(He wonders, then, if he should tell them of another prophecy, this one foretelling the death of Odin Borson by the hands of one of Loki’s children.

He eventually choose not to, as these two have already got their hands full with this one prophecy. They don’t need to worry about another, one that probably doesn’t even apply to Harry. It is rare enough that one is the subject of a prophecy. But to be the subject of two prophecies, each from a different realm?

(Besides, if Loki had any say in the matter, Harry will never, ever even meet Odin.)

And if it happens that Harry is, indeed, that special? Well, Loki will always be around to prepare Harry for that daunting task, anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap! 
> 
> ...for the prologue, at least. don't worry, you'll be seeing a lot of harry and loki as he moves through his years at hogwarts. i'll be posting those chapters in separate stories, so please subscribe to the series so you'll be notified when i update.
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are highly appreciated. 
> 
> thank you again for reading!


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